


a world without her

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Darling PAIN, F/M, Gen, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He screams her name until his voice is hoarse and he sounds more jungle cat than human, and still she does not fly back to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a world without her

**Author's Note:**

> a drabble featuring Peter and Wendy in Storybrooke, not in the way you think.

The curse breaks in math class. Mrs. Thatcher stops her lecture on domain and range and blinks, straightening. “Oh,” she says, and drops her marker. Other kids are blinking and looking around, like they have no idea why they’re here.

In the silence, someone sprints down the hall, screaming another’s name—the _real_  name. Peter sits, staring at his hands, trying to comprehend the countless memories flitting through his head.  _Regina_ , he manages to think through the cascade of images—faces— _names_.  _Regina did this_.

When he gets his thoughts in order, he smoothly stands up and strides out of the classroom. A minute later, he hears the rest of the class follow his lead, bursting with questions and “have you seen”s and disbelief. But he pays them no mind as he strides out of the school and turns to City Hall.

_I have a queen to kill._

* * *

He sees Wendy halfway to City Hall, and all thoughts of killing Regina disappear. His bird looks lost, gripping the side of a tree while madness reigns all around her. Her eyes flicker across the scene, looking for—for what?

He stands on the side of the street, staring at her, waiting for her to notice him. When she does, he expects her to greet him with a smile or a wave, or possibly go to him.

He doesn’t expect her to take one look at him and bolt in the opposite direction, but it is a pleasant surprise. He hasn’t played in so long. Peter feels a familiar smile creep across his face. “In the mood for Chase, then, little bird?” he whispers, and gives her a ten-second head start (just like it was on Neverland, just like it  _will_  be) before running after her.

Peter might not have any magic to aid him, here in Storybrooke (even the _name_  disgusts him), but he’s always been fast.

Unfortunately, Wendy’s just as fast, too, especially when she has no cumbersome nightgown to hold her back and he has no magic to make him faster. One hundred years of outrunning jungle cats will do that.

She is the bird, and he the wolf, and she plays the game very well. He chases her, laughing while slowly catching up, and laughs harder when she flees into the woods—his home, second only to Neverland itself. “Oh, Wendy-bird,” he calls, weaving through the trees. He can see the brown leather of her jacket and her hair, come loose out of her braid, flying behind her as she runs, not even attempting to be quiet. “You should’ve known better than to think you would get away from _me_.”

Wendy doesn’t respond, just pushes herself more until they break through the wood and get to a long, winding asphalt road. A  _Welcome to Storybrooke_  sign is hundreds of feet away, and Peter laughs again. He’s only fifty feet behind her now, and gaining fast.

Soon the bird will be caught, and put back in her cage where she belongs (with him).

But then he tastes the magic tingling in the air and stops dead, his grin vanishing. Wendy seems to sense that she’s no longer being pursued and slows as well, eventually approaching the sign and resting a hand on it. She turns toward him, quivering and red-faced and panting, and he holds up a hand.

Peter Pan has never been afraid, but there’s something distinct malevolent in the magic he tastes—magic that’s right behind the bird, beckoning to her and caressing her back like it’s a lover. “Don’t go any farther, Darling,” he says, holding up a hand. He turns it up, beckoning to her. “Come here. Now.”

“No,” she says, clutching at the sign like it’s her lifeline. A familiar spark of anger ignites inside him, but he chokes it down and forces himself to be calm. _Like speaking to a new Lost Boy_ , he tells himself.

“Your brothers are here,” he soothes. He doesn’t know if it’s true—not really—but right now he’ll do anything to keep her from stepping back into the embrace of the magic behind her. “Baelfire’s here. They’re all waiting for you back in Storybrooke. All you have to do is come here. I’ll take you home.”

“You’re lying,” she seethes. “You’re always  _lying_  to me, Peter! Neverland isn’t my home, it’s  _never_  been my  _home_ —”

The anger surges to cloud his vision, and he clenches his jaw and steps forward. “Come now, bird, you don’t _mean_  that—”

Wendy glares at him and steps back, into the wall of magic, and it swallows her in one gulp. He can see it descend over her like a cloud and sprints forward as she trips over something invisible and twists away, landing on her hands and knees—on the other side of the magic wall holding him back.

He almost crosses the wall to get to her, but the magic in front of him tastes so sweet it reminds him of dreamshade and he keeps himself rooted to the road. Wendy doesn’t speak for a long moment and slowly gets to her feet. “Bird?” he says, forcing himself to sound less concerned than he is.

Wendy faces him—and her face is completely,  _utterly_  blank. “Do I know you?”

Something inside him clenches painfully, but he schools his expression. “Yes. I’m … I’m Peter. We’re friends. You got lost, and I found you. Your brothers are waiting—”

“I don’t have any brothers,” she interrupts, alarm in her wide eyes. She takes a step back and raises a hand, as if trying to ward him off and protect herself at the same time. She steps away again and flinches when he clenches his jaw.

Peter has seen Wendy in many moods—anger, frustration, sadness—but he has never seen her  _afraid_. At least, not openly, and not in one hundred years. On Neverland, he would have gloated in the knowledge that he can scare her, but here it nauseates him.

Wendy’s voice grows more panicked. “I remember now. I was—I was running away from  _you!_ ”

_Bird, don’t you_ dare _—_

Before he can reply, she turns on her heel and runs down the road, away from _him_ , like she has the  _right_  to leave. He realizes what she’s doing a heartbeat too late. “No—” the word is a whisper, and then he calls, louder. “No. Bird—Wendy…  _Wendy!_   _Come back!_ ”

Wendy doesn’t reply, and Peter watches her, growing more desperate with every second. He screams her name until his voice is hoarse and he sounds more jungle cat than human, and still she does not fly back to him.

The road stretches on for a mile at least, and the loudest and hoarsest time her name leaves his lips is when Wendy runs around the bend in the road and disappears from his sight.

Peter is left behind, staring at the empty road. His bones are screaming to go after her, chase her down and punish her for being so  _stupid_ —but he can’t. The magic in front of him tastes sweet with a deadly aftertaste, and now he knows what it can do.

_It took her. It took Wendy from me._

Peter stares at the empty road for another minute, then turns on his heel and walks away, his mind already starting to formulate a plan.  _I’ll find you, Wendy-bird_ , he thinks, clenching his fists until his blunt nails dig blood-filled crescents in his palms.

_I always do._


End file.
